


NACH (Discontinued)

by S_IRIS



Series: May I Come In? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Not literally, Past Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Professor Victor, Student Sherlock, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unilock, Victor is an angel in the teacher's disguise, not the ACD version, okay a little bit ACD is there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_IRIS/pseuds/S_IRIS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It couldn't have been a simple thing for Sherlock. For nothing ever was a simple thing for Sherlock Holmes. It had to be a professor. It had to be someone more than twice as old as him. It had to be unrequited over again.</p><p>Or was it?</p><p>
  <strong>*You can find the story in the second part of the series. I have discontinued this*</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, go on and hate me all you like for making Victor into a university professor instead of what Sir ACD did. . . So what? This is fan fiction after all ;-)

So far, the day was going bad enough for Sherlock.

Being the first day of the term meant that people (who, in Sherlock's exclusive opinion, were too many to be bothered with) were back and were still reminiscing their Christmas. Which meant talk. About more people. About things like "he finally kissed me under the mistletoe! Imagine, the mistletoe!" and "I had two pork roasts!" and "gosh, I've gained weight!" and "OMG, I loved ice-skating with my nephew's cousin's mother's sister!" and other trivialities.

Which also meant that there were no classes. Or labs. Probably. Most probably.

Sherlock sighed as his so-called friends happily chatted among themselves. He sneaked his phone out to check the schedule. The first lecture, Mathematics 1B had been cancelled, and so had been Physical Chemistry 2C, which they had, in fact spent roaming around the campus. He had a gut feeling that Organic Chemistry 2B would also be called off.

"Hey guys," someone shouted from the back benches, "Just got the text. Organic's off!"

Nobody cheered at this piece of predictable news.

"Okay, so," Deb sighed and turned back to their little group of five, "the cafe, of course."

Deb Carter was tall, average looking, not-so-academic, and Sherlock couldn't often recall how they had become friends. It had all started the last term, with Sherlock having no choice but to show her his answer script during the mid-term tests so that the poor girl didn't have to beg around for answers. All in all, pity was probably the only reason, apart from her valuable ability to keep her mouth shut in most situations, that had led Sherlock to keep her as a friend.

"Yes!" Anna squealed excitedly, as Sherlock dug into his bookbag for a book he had to give back to Deb, "It's Sherlock's turn today!"

He rolled his eyes, "You have 100 in your pocket, enough for four of us."

Anna was completely opposite of Deb. Studious, spontaneous, crazy to boot and the nineteen-year-equivalent of a pixie, who worshipped and was obsessed with Sherlock and never ceased to be amazed by his brains and his cutting wit. Sherlock found her clinginess and her childlike devotion off-putting sometimes, and even tried to drop subtle hints that, well, he was on the other side of the team and that he'd never be interested in her, but she was fairly entertaining and she was Deb's best friend, so he had to put up with her.

Predictably, Anna's eyes widened as Sherlock rose and slung the bookbag on his shoulder, "How did you know _that_?"

All the four of them groaned. Sherlock decided to cut them some slack. He never really bothered to explain himself to Anna of all people.

"It's the first day," Andy heaved an all-suffering sigh, "stop bothering us with your nonsense."

"You're the nonsense, nonsense," Anna puffed out a pathetic reply. Max, who was buried in his phone, now looked up, to Anna's rescue at once.

"Don't start once again, guys. It's just the first day."

Anna and Andy huffed together, "He started first."

"Well, I wouldn't have started if not for you—"

Max met Sherlock's eyes briefly before going back to exploring his phone further. Out of all four of his people-who-came-closest-to-friends, Sherlock liked Max the most and Andy the least. Andy was overbearing and full of free advice, thought very little when he spoke, was too protective of everyone close (that was okay, actually, because he had almost jumped in front of a car to get Sherlock out of the way). Max, on the other hand, was quiet and the overall nice-guy who got friend-zoned by almost every girl. But he was the only one who was brainy enough to hold an intelligent conversation with him, so he was okay too.

"Cafe, now," Deb smacked the table sharply as the rest of the class made their way out lazily. Andy dragged Max out by his arm while Anna sulked to an amused Deb. Sherlock, as he always did, kept his distance from the four of them. It was tempting to throw himself into company, but he knew better than to let anybody close and take liberties with him.

There was just something wonderful about the atmosphere of the university. It reeked of lethargy, the trees, even the birds on the trees and the cat near the cafe. Not that Sherlock didn't like being there, but just. . . well, life was just going on. No crests no troughs, simply. . . going on. The same schedule would start over again. Fests, seminars, lectures and projects, social protocol and parties, the annual reunion, Union body elections and a few protest marches, that's what life was at St. Bart's.

Not boring, but still. . . it could've been better. Something was missing, and Sherlock didn't know what. Pseudo-friendships with Deb, Anna, Max and Andy were going well enough for him, as were the occasional clashes with Sebastian Wilkes and the rest of his class people. Sherlock had even moved on from his past relationship with his ex-boyfriend in high school, John. . . well, sort of.

But something still felt missing.

"Hey, apparently we're having the lab."

Sherlock gave an imperceptible start and looked into Max's impassive hazel eyes. He looked around, having lost track of time in his own thought and his self-imposed solitude. Anna was flirting, if at all it could be called flirting, with one of the boys from geology, Deb was talking on her phone, and a few yards away, Andy was learning a few hacking trips from some of his friends from computer science. They were sitting very close, but Sherlock's heart did not give that familiar flutter. Sometimes he wondered why. Max was gentle and patient and attractive, and yet he never felt any sort of attraction towards him. Maybe he really gave out a friend-zone vibe.

Sherlock frowned, "It's the first day."

"Yeah," Max shrugged, "but we are."

He pushed his phone under Sherlock's nose. The message in the messenger group of their class was clear, from Sebastian: Org lab from 2:30.

Sherlock nodded, deciding not to reply. The cat who always hung around the cafe looked up at him and promptly went back to sleep.

"That's great, actually," Max went on, "I read in the syllabus that we're gonna have IR. . ."

 _You think?_ Sherlock thought, amused despite himself.

". . . anyway, any idea about the instructor?"

 

* * *

  

"He's not gonna come, that damned instructor," Andy rubbed the back of his neck, yawning widely.

"Or she," Anna corrected him almost immediately. Andy gave her a death stare that she pretended not to notice.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. It was 2:45 pm now, and the lab assistant had decided to keep them out until the instructor deigned to arrive. The spaces between them were filled with gossip and chatter about outings, hikes, football and the holiday season.

"I think Seb got a bad call," Max rubbed his temples tiredly as he took his glasses off, "The guy never came to lecture. No reason why he'd come now."

Sherlock was just about to say that he was thinking exactly the same thing when Sebastian Wilkes shouted out to the rest of the class, motioning them to come in. Deb threw him a puzzled look as Max and Andy disappeared into the lab.

"Seb was talking about you," she said softly, so that no one could hear.

Sherlock was vaguely interested in what new sort of nonsense Sebastian could be making about him and how he hadn't got tired yet of going behind his back and spreading rumours about him, but he decided to let it pass.

"Must be something boring," he gave her a smirk and looked up.

The instructor was lean and tall, in a high neck red jumper and white trousers that screamed of Tube and overuse. He was clean-shaven, and his jet black hair was neat and pristine, and for a moment, Sherlock couldn't help but feel self-conscious about his own unruly curls. He was looking at all the kids around and smiling, the rare sort of contented smile that just didn't suit a chemistry professor. But he was, and Sherlock couldn't help but keep looking. The guy looked happy, genuinely happy, and even with his black wooden-framed glasses, Sherlock could see the twinkle in his soft brown eyes.

The guy then suddenly turned in their direction, where Deb was lounging around behind the rack of chemicals, and made a sort-of excited 'come here' gesture at them. Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes. There was nothing to be excited about. He knew all the tests, all the protocols. He'd be learning nothing new here, and yet he had to be here, for attendance and other tedious things that were a requisite for promotion to the next term. Last term, he had skipped all his inorganic lab sessions, and later, Mycroft had had to suck up to the authorities and use his connections to propel Sherlock to the next term.

Sherlock had then sworn to himself he'd never again put himself in a position where he'd have to accept Mycroft's help.

When Deb also left his side, Sherlock dragged himself to the desks and slouched over his bookbag. He had never entered the PG organic lab. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see a boy and a girl, research scholars in all probability, already working from the first day itself.

"So," the instructor cleared his throat and addressed them, still looking infuriatingly happy and energetic, "I'm just going to keep this short, seeing as it's just the first week of the term."

Sherlock sighed. He knew this type. The instructor who _craved_ for approval, surely.

"First of all, organic lab is a dangerous place. Yes, believe me, guys, when I say that if you're not careful enough, you can even die in here."

The class gave a chuckle, some nervous, others disbelieving. Sherlock glanced at Anna. She seemed completely besotted with the instructor. Sherlock couldn't blame her. He was handsome after all, even if in an unconventional way, and he had a sort of a radiance to him, despite his age.

"Yeah," his eyes twinkled with amusement, "I don't mean to scare you, but even the most," and here he inserted dramatic and completely inappropriate air quotes, " "regular" of chemicals that you'll be working with are toxic, can cause blindness, even instant death. For example," he stepped down the platform gracefully and the class moved away to let him walk around to one of the desks. He grabbed a reagent bottle with an orange coloured solution and held it up to show to everyone, "this. DNP. Two-comma-four dinitrophenol Anyone knows what this does?"

 _How can anyone not know?_ Sherlock thought, fighting back a yawn.

After a minute of puzzled silence and a couple of come-on-you-know-this looks from the instructor, Anna raised a trembling hand, "Gives. . . um, test for. . . ketones?"

Sherlock didn't miss the fleeting look of disappointment that crossed the instructor's face.

"Yes, you're partially right," he acknowledged with a quick nod and went on briskly, and Anna looked positively devastated, "DNP is used to detect the carbonyl functional group, and that's what you would write if anyone asked you that in your test. Anything else?"

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see all eyes turning to him. The instructor did not miss this, and looked at him expectantly. Sherlock blinked, feeling caught up in an embarrassing situation. He hated not knowing things, especially in front of people who pretended to know more than he did.

He met the man's eyes and tried to blink innocently.

"Alright," the instructor looked away dismissively, "commercially, DNP was abused as a dieting aid," at this point, he glanced at the girls and Sherlock felt an uncomfortable clenching inside, "because of its inhibitory action against energy production in cells. . . but I trust you not to go bottoms up on this vial."

The guys at the back guffawed loudly till it became increasingly obvious that they were not going to stop their somewhat fake laughter until the instructor asked them to. But he just patiently watched them, a Zen-like amused smile on his face till they were silenced into embarrassment. He continued like there was nothing wrong.

"And it's also toxic by inhalation and skin contact. Now this," he shook it merrily as if what he said moments ago didn't matter at all, "is an extremely dilute solution, as DNP is sparingly soluble. . . I hope you're all writing this down because I'll be asking all this during the viva."

Sherlock looked around himself as everyone rushed to grab their notebooks and pens just as the instructor gave a boyish chuckle when everybody was finished. His eyes were positively glowing.

"So," he craned his neck at those standing at the back, "I hope you won't be laughing at me anymore when I can make you do anything just like," he snapped his fingers, "that."

The class now genuinely laughed. Deb met Sherlock's eyes, and Sherlock smiled to himself, and then immediately clamped down on the light feeling. He had to learn to keep a straight impassive face at all times.

"Anyway, and this," he went to another rack and picked up a bottle half filled with clear solution, "Methanol. A very common solvent. I don't suppose I have to tell you about this. Instant blindness and death upon intake, yeah?"

The class gave a low-pitched agreement.

"And also, methyl amine. Common by-product in organic reactions. . . Anyone there who watches  _Breaking Bad_?"

The class looked disbelievingly at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"One of the chief ingredients you use for cooking crystal meth," he looked at all of them with a contagious sort of excitement that was starting to get even to Sherlock, before he realised what he was saying, "Oops. Must keep my mouth shut, sorry folks, don't go up to the administration and tell them that your organic instructor is teaching you all how to cook crystal meth, okay?"

The class burst into laughter, with some boys adding, "oh, we'll surely complain, sir," amidst the noise.

"So anyway," he continued after the commotion died down, "one thing you must remember, never smell a primary aliphatic amine directly, okay? Never ever. Get that in your notes, ladies and gentlemen."

Scribbling all around.

"Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that you've got to be careful in the lab. Gloves, lab coat on all the time. Anybody without them," at this point, his voice became deeper and gruffer, "and I'll have you thrown out of here."

Sherlock groaned inwardly. He knew he'd forget once in a while. Beside him, Anna let out a quiet moan, followed by a little squeak of, "God, his voice!"

He moved away for the sake of his continued sanity.

"And not just careful for your own sake," the instructor continued in that same serious tone, "You've got to think of your friends too. In fact, there was an incident, a couple of years ago in Imperial. A girl was heating a reaction mixture over the burner, and the mouth of the test tube was pointed in the direction of her friend's face. And guess what happened when the mixture sprang out of the test tube due to overheating?"

Girls in the lab gasped at that.

"Yes, I don't know if you've read. Such things can happen in the lab, so be careful. . ."

Sherlock took a deep breath, involuntarily stacking the information in his mind palace. Inside, he couldn't help but feel that the professor was a little too ridiculous. It was just a bloody lab session. How could someone be so excited over teaching a bunch of stupid undergrads that his class people were?

As the instructor went on and on about what Sherlock already knew: an overview of the tests they were going to perform, safety instructions and everything, Sherlock set to figure the man out. He was obviously old, for he had greying hair in his temples, and he probably was the biggest nerd Sherlock had ever met. His best guess was 45, straight, probably married and content with half-a-dozen kids and a couple of published papers per year.

But the absence of a ring on his finger was prominent.

When the class was near completion, Sebastian Wilkes spoke up like the arrogant douchebag that he was, "Sir, why don't you just hand out photocopies of the lab sheet?"

That made the instructor go from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. Sherlock never thought he had ever paid so much attention to any teacher ever, for the instructor proceeded to explain to a completely-nonplussed Sebastian Wilkes about why one should never resort to photocopies even though it is "entropically favourable", and that one should, in their time as a student, always resort to processes that have a positive "Gibbs energy value" because those processes make you work harder and make you tougher.

Sherlock could bet his entire life savings on the claim that Wilkes had probably never even heard the term "entropy" or "Gibbs". Feeling smug upon seeing Wilkes being overwhelmed by the intensity and the amount of chemistry burdened upon him, Sherlock decided that maybe the instructor wasn't all that ridiculous.

Or maybe, on second thoughts, too ridiculous for his own good.

And it was only back in the cafe that he realised that the instructor hadn't even introduced himself.

 

* * *

 

Back in his dorm room, Sherlock had been reading an online article when his phone buzzed for the hundredth time. He sighed. As tolerable as Deb was in real life, she could really be annoying in her texts.

**_Debra [ 12th Jan 2015. 22:03 pm]: yes im txtng u_ **

And another:

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:05 pm]: YOU!!! dere, i speld 'u' fr u_ **

Sighing, he decided to humour her. She had been nagging him since the past hour, and usually he responded back after she had sent him a minimum of ten texts.

**What?**

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:06 pm]: y did u leave me alone wid anna????_**

Frowning, Sherlock fired a text away:

**You said you needed to go to the restroom, and she was boring me**

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:06 pm]: thnx 2 u i had 2 listn 2 all her fantasy abt VT_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:07 pm]: i had 1d off CE... and i had 2 spend it wid anna n her VT_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:08 pm]: i hate u_ **

_Now who's this VT?_ Sherlock thought.

**Who's VT?**

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:08 pm]: dat lab guy_ **

Sherlock glanced at his phone and smirked. So Anna had now obviously hunted out the instructor's initials. . . VT. Poor guy's funeral.

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:08 pm]: who said dat labs cud kill_ **

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. That was most certainly not the message he had intended to spread. He shook himself.

**How do you know his name?**

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:09 pm]: my sis knowz him. he wuz her lecturer last term_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:10 pm]: anyway annazz lyk im in luv wid him_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:10 pm]: n im lyk hez so old n marryd_ **

Sherlock shut off his phone after that. He didn't know if Debra was really thick-skulled to not understand that he hated such pointless girlish gossip.

He decided to fire one last text before switching his phone off.

**What's his name?**

He waited with bated breath.

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:11 pm]: Victor Trevor_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:11 pm]: y u askng????_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:12 pm]: anyway annazz lyk so what if hez old???_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:13 pm]: i know rite?_ **

**_Debra [12th Jan 2015 22:13 pm]: hw desperate can sum1 be??_ **

Switching his phone off in irritation of the onslaught of messages, Sherlock lay back on his bed and thought of those soft brown eyes, glowing with promise and contentment, something he had never really seen before.

With a sigh, he got up, dug into one of his bags. It contained all his old stuff, paraphernalia, stupid things and collectibles like molluscs preserved in formaldehyde inside a labelled jar, a collection of coins discontinued in various nation-states, a couple of notebooks, journals, heaps of "navigation charts" leading to imaginary treasure he had made as a child. He really didn't understand why his mother insisted on sending a bag full of those things to him every time, things that tied him to his past gullibility and childishness. Once or twice he had made up his mind to throw those things away, but he found that he usually had neither the time, nor the effort.

Opening one of the diaries, a photo slipped through and fell on the floor. It was an old photo of himself, with John, his ex. It was torn at the edges, faded. It was taken right after John's team had won some big-shot football match. John had his right arm wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders and beaming towards the camera, his left arm injured after the match.

Sherlock picked it up and looked at himself, his fourteen-year-old counterpart holding John as close as he could without outing themselves as a gay couple in front of John's precious friends.

He did look happy, if only a weeny bit.

He looked at it for a long time, and then, in a moment of decision, he slipped the photograph under his bed and closed the bag, determined to get rid of those things. Glanced at a broken test tube at the bottom of the bag before sealing it.

"Victor Trevor," he muttered to himself, before going back to the online article on his laptop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the chapter 2 you've been waiting for

NACH started simple, but over time with more plots and ideas and general ACD influence, it developed into something more... so I'll be starting a fresh story as a Part 2 of the series and leave this be. I'll be uploading chapter one of that story within two weeks.

I won't be deleting this because it has chapters 2 through 4 drafts as well.

Apologies and love,

Iris

**Author's Note:**

> I did a student/teacher thing again. Yes again. Sue me if you'd like, but after going so evil on Victor in one of my other fics, I thought I had to make up for the one fandom character I can twist as I like XD


End file.
